~Sierra~

At the start of the day, cars hummed around me as I impatiently waited in the queue of traffic. Black circle sunglasses concealed my sluggish eyes that were fighting to stay open. Instead, they were being attacked by the blazing morning sun. Putting the car into neutral, I crossed my legs and slouched back with a distressed sigh. I had woken up late, forehead gleaming with a cold sweat and my mind in a paranoid mess. There was something about last night with Will that had sent a foreboding chill coursing through my veins and not even sleep could act as a remedy. My mind wouldn't allow me to remember the dreams. All I knew was how whatever had been conjured in my sleep had petrified me.

Jonathan had gotten in shortly after Will hid away in his bedroom. Without waking up Zack, I met Jonathan out on the front porch to discuss what had happened. Concern etching his eyes, Jonathan merely said good night and thanked me for looking after Will, before ushering Zack and I out of the house. It was suspicious to say the least. By the time we had gotten home, it was past 10pm, so it was straight to bed for Zack. Usually, it would be the same for me too. However, the same question continued to terrorize my thoughts and stopped me from wanting to fall asleep. Pacing around my bedroom, I asked myself: What the hell just happened? It was a mystery I desperately wanted to solve. Being able to finally fall asleep was a miracle in itself. But what would come along was not what I had hoped.

Those damn nightmares…

I felt like a failure. I had failed to get my brother up and ready at a reasonable time, failed to ensure he wouldn't panic about being late to school, and I had failed to ask what he had on for the day. My head was in its automatic mode where everything had to be done as efficiently as possible. Unfortunately, automatic mode also dismissed anything other than getting the task at hand done. Zack walked off in a huff and the feeling of failing him intensified. Tears had started to flood my eyes and there was nothing I wanted more than to violently punch my car's horn and scream. The second day of having a bad night's sleep and the panic from my dreams following me meant I was in a foul mood. But I had swallowed all of it down, practiced a few breaths and gone into the grocery store. We'd ran out of cereal after Zack had his portion so I hadn't actually eaten. I was praying to some non-existent deity that I didn't run into the jocks. Automatic mode was reactivated as I clamored out of my car and straight past the older women who were unnaturally jolly for a morning. I only had one mission in my mind: get to the bakery section, buy some baked goods and devour them in the space of a minute. Hunger was my mortal enemy and anyone who stepped in my way from being able to eat would find themselves on my hit list.

Excluding Billy fucking Hargrove.

If I thought I was going to be in a horrendous mood for the rest of the day, Billy Hargrove had just proved me wrong. In any normal sort of situation, Jason Carver would've continued to kiss ass and test his luck. Typically, whatever guy next to me would have just been astounded at how my father was so impressed with him. Not Billy Hargrove. He was something else entirely. Someone else. I had seen Jason a few times later that day and you could just tell he was stifling a growl or what he perceived to be his basic right to say something about what had happened. The glum expression on his face conveyed to me that he was desperate to find out who Billy was, why he was with me and who in the hell he thought he was to interrupt his gloating over how much he knew about stock markets?

At school, I had parked next to Steve and Nancy who met me with shock that I was late to my usual, and now taken, parking spot. Immediately, I disclosed what had happened. Nancy had squealed and gasped at how brazen Billy had been whereas Steve asked why I was in the grocery store in the first place. Of course, Steve's protective side always came out when it involved both boys in my life and abnormal interruptions to my day.

"I know how much you hate going there first thing in the morning, so why didn't you just come straight to school?" Steve had quizzed.

I explained to them what occurred the night before with Will Byers, not going into full detail, but enough to let them know that it had creeped me out. Nancy and Steve exchanged a concerned look, and retrospectively, it went beyond a look shared by two people weirded out by a babysitting-gone-wrong tale. When I had questioned why they appeared like someone had struck them with a baseball bat, they both simultaneously jumped back into reality and shook their heads, detailing how they had never heard of a story like that before and suspected he was probably just waking up from a nightmare. Bewildered by their reaction, I was interrupted by the school bell. I knew this wouldn't stop me from pestering them, and neither did Nancy and Steve as they dashed to their first class of the day. I hadn't seen them since, not even Nancy in English which disappointed me as she couldn't witness Billy Hargrove and I work on a poem together. When I said, 'work on a poem', what I really meant was discreet flirting and doing anything but work. Billy and I had agreed to meet outside school for 17:30pm. By that time, I should be done with the parent-teacher meeting and fully recovered from the schmoozing teachers.

After school, I had driven back home and grabbed a quick shower, getting changed into a more appropriate attire - an off the shoulder black knitted sweater, a pair of mom jeans to match and some sneakers would do the trick. Zack was staying at school with the kids he'd be on a playdate with this evening, so it gave me time just to relax for an hour before having to head off. I had just finished engaging with parents who were telling me that they were 'so touched' by how I wanted my father to continue working and offered to come in his place. I merely nodded, acting like they weren't the furthest thing away from the truth. It took a hell of a lot of energy to not tell them to head their heads out of his ass. How the hell was no one questioning this? My father had completely forgotten about it. At least, that's what I believed until he came sauntering in. All the mothers treated him like a hero, as if keeping updated on his son's education was an honor for him instead of a necessity. With little signs of the adoration withering away, he kissed my head and made an impromptu speech about how he was, in his words, 'flattered' that his little girl had grown to be a woman and he was 'so proud' that his parenting had led to me selflessly attending today whilst he was at an important meeting.

As I stood there uncomfortably, I nearly muttered a 'Fuck you'. He loved to do this to me. Turn up and appear as the nurturing single father. He knew he could get laid more that way. Mrs Derwent, who consciously turned around in her tight jeans when my father entered the room, made regular appearances at our house despite holding the title of 'Mrs'. Not only did he get the ego boost and women, but he had a sole duty of keeping up his image as a caring father. Nancy and Steve knew the truth, as did my mother, hence her lack of presence. But, she was too interested in her new family now. After all, we were old and used goods. The new baby and new husband were all shiny to her.

I digress again, a bad habit of mine. No, my father had to fulfill his narcissistic desire to be seen as a model citizen. It was good for business. Everyone would have thought using his business would be putting food on the table for his children whose mother had swanned off after a salacious affair. In reality, it was fueling something more sinister. I was sure there were some problems behind all of this. He had loved my mother, but was also controlling and unsupportive. I knew little of his childhood other than his father had started a furnishings company from scratch in Hawkins and his mother was a loyal housewife who nursed five kids including him. My grandparents were lovely and warm people. Every now and then, we would go round to see them. However, my father would rarely join us and when he did, it always ended up with a lecture from Grandpa. There were definite daddy issues there. Regardless of that, an adult takes responsibility to ensure they don't repeat the past, and it definitely does not excuse hitting your teenage daughter and leaving her to raise your infant son.

"I said, what are you doing tonight, Sierra?"

Shit, how many times had he said that?

He towered over me, arms crossed but still smiling. No one else would be able to tell, but it was more a grimace than anything else.

"Sorry, I'm doing some English homework. Got to work on getting those college recommendations!" I quickly said.

"Yes, she's applied for Brown and UCLA. I can't believe my little girl is finally at that age!" he replied, talking to the women gathered around as opposed to me.

He enveloped an arm around my shoulders and upon feeling my whole body tense up, gave me a tight squeeze. The women cooed and praised him for raising such an intelligent girl. A rather bold mother went so far as to say, "This was all you, ya know, Tony? You've done such a wonderful job" as if I had no part to play in my own development. He loved that. One look at him confirmed such. A wide grin and a wink. God, when would this unbearable parade end?

After ten more minutes of standing and trying to disengage from the endless babbling, the parent-teacher meeting was over. Zack leapt into his arms and we were out of the doors in a flash. He sent Zack over to the car, telling me he would drop Zack at his friend's house. What a coincidence that this particular playdate was at Mrs Derwent's home! With a sharp command, I found my feet glued to the ground. Once he had helped Zack into the car, buckling him in, he turned around to come back to me. Within seconds, his whole demeanor had distorted from a nurturing parent to a man engulfed by fury. Every three steps, he peered over to the school entrance, seeing if there was a stream of chattering mothers coming out. If the coast was clear, he would fixate his narrowed eyes on me. I could feel the heat of his anger the moment he stepped away from the car.

"You gonna explain just what in the hell that was in there, Sierra?" he asked. Hands on hips, leaning over his feet ever so slightly.

Crinkling my eyebrows, I poured over what I could have done wrong. Had I said something out of place? No, I had been silent pretty much the entire time he was in there. Maybe that's what the problem was. Had I not spoken enough, appeared too solemn? Did I give anything away to rupture the image of this perfect life we were meant to be living? I couldn't think.

"Stop being so fucking stupid. You know what you did" he paused, awaiting my verdict. Would I charge myself guilty or would I be brave enough to throw up my middle finger? "I had to ask you three times what you were doing after school" He moved an inch closer and his eyes bore into me. I could physically feel them ripping me apart. "You know what happens if you make me look like an idiot, Sierra" One second. Two seconds. Then he eased off. The interrogation was over. My silence confirmed that I did, in fact, know what happened when I made him look like an idiot. "You're lucky I have the time to take Zack to Mrs Derwent's house. You did know that was the plan, right?"

Of course I knew it was the fucking plan, you asshole. I was the one who organized it and wrote it on your personal calendar. I suddenly found myself breathless with anger. A blazing inferno shooting through my veins. How fucking dare he?

"Yes, I knew" I muttered through gritted teeth. I was creating a deadly situation for myself, exposing that I was feeling any sort of negativity towards him. Apparently I should smile sweetly when I'm getting verbally abused. Forcing myself to loosen up, I ran a mental scan through my body and tried to envision how I would be free from his clutches in less than 5 minutes. I couldn't keep Mrs Derwent waiting after all. "Thank you for taking him"

"You're very welcome" he sardonically replied and forced me in for a hug. Planting a soft kiss on my forehead, he snagged my chin up to face him. "Pick him up for 8. I'm at work"

'At work'. Sure, I wonder what that really meant.

"Right, Sierra?" He rolled his eyes at me. The condescending prick. "Christ, kid, you really need to give that head of yours a shake"

"Of course. Not a problem. Thanks again" I said almost robotically and waved goodbye.

As I watched his car go around the corner, my whole body slumped and sighed. Freeing a long, shuddering breath, I allowed my eyes to fall to a close. It was over for now. He would go to work, I would pick up Zack, and everything would continue as normal.

Normal.

This was normal.

This was my life.

A sweltering sensation formed in my eyes as hot tears pleaded to be liberated. Squeezing my eyes tightly, I desperately fought them. It wasn't until I felt something warm slide across the inside of my hand that I realized that they had been trembling.

~Billy~

Flicking my vision from the road to the mirror, I checked out my hair. I'd styled it in a rush after dropping Max back home. She'd been late again. Homework, apparently. She didn't seem to get what the word 'home' in homework actually implied. It was like she didn't get that we had 5 minutes from the time of getting in to Him arriving. I wanted her out of the way for that. She'd just create more trouble for herself than what it was worth. Any moment later out of those school doors and it would have been an interrogation as to why we weren't there to greet Him back with open arms. Of course, we never did. Max sulked in her room and I stayed in there unless he'd been having a bad day. Someone's got to take the flack and it was never Max or Susan. Personally, if I could have my way, I wish it would never have to be any of us. However, Susan was weak-willed and if she found herself facing His wrath, then she would break down in tears. Max was still a kid and any kid getting that kind of treatment would be doomed to a lifetime of medication and therapy. Me, I could take it. I didn't need to have a mental breakdown or get drugs shoved down my throat, I just carried on. I would graduate soon and get the hell out of there. Go back to California and start my life over. That was the plan. There was nothing wrong with me other than the usual human flaws. Sure, I was pissed off at the world but anyone put in my situation would empathize with that, surely.

In the meantime, this unspoken date with Sierra was the getaway. Then Bryony later. Shit, I hoped I'd have the energy to treat them both to a good time. Who was I kidding? Of course I would. If Max had been more than a moment later, I would have had to cancel. Then who would have looked like a jackass? Sierra knew I was interested in her and canceling at the last minute wasn't my style. Moreover, having to find an excuse other than Him forcing me to was just plain embarrassing.

"So, Sierra, want to talk more about that essay on The Scarlet Letter? I'm dying to know what inspired you" I practiced and smirked at myself in the rear view mirror.

Better to have a laugh now than later. The girl seemed serious about her passion for English. During class today, we did a reading of 'Those Winter Sundays'. When I wasn't making her blush, we were actually doing the analysis of the poem. There seemed to be something that really got to her about the speaker reflecting on the selfless acts of the father. When she talked about it, there was a sadness to her tone, envy in those green eyes of hers as they digested the simple sacrifices the father made for his kids. Something had affected her, but she never let on. We didn't know each other well enough. She only highlighted how the father was "quite unique in his familial duties", pausing before emphasizing that she meant unique for a nuclear family where the dad mainly worked. Well, Mrs Simpson did all but hump her leg when Sierra raised this point to the class. I never usually had a thing for the teacher's favorite, but I admit that I found myself fairly captivated by her lyrical description of the poem. Whilst I was also somehow in AP English, her vast vocabulary was impressive. She'd quite clearly read and memorized a thesaurus as a kid. Usually, I would have called her a nerd. But she was a hot nerd.

Turning around the corner as I came up to the elementary school, I chuckled to myself. I could recognize that ass and long, dark hair anywhere now. Indicating to pull over, my chuckle faded as I noticed she was standing still in the middle of the street, not even flinching at the boisterous sound of my horn. I was winding down my window to call for her when I saw what had gotten her so distracted. Coming up to her was a man who I would have guessed was late-30s, wearing a crisp white shirt and a pinstripe designer suit, dark blonde hair slicked back in the way all corporate guys had it, and a very serious frown on his face. I had seen this look many times before on His face and what followed all too well. I furrowed my brows as I tried to intercept the conversation. From the way he towered over her, inches away, I speculated that he was angry at her about something. A cold sense of dread ran through me and I started getting out of the car, ready to interject if needed. There was something off about this guy that I didn't like at all. He was around my height, close to my build as well. Sierra was a lot shorter though and he was definitely using that to his advantage. Yeah, there was something off. I could just sense it.

By the time I managed to cross the road, the guy had disappeared. One scout around the area showed that he hadn't gone too far. He was in her car, waiting for the traffic lights to change from red to green. However, Sierra was still standing in the same spot, lost in time. I had seen that angry expression on another man's face too many times now to not be able to translate their conversation. It had been the brunt of too many altercations, the first sign that everything was about to go to shit.

I wanted to reassure her that she wasn't alone. It was only when I brushed my fingers across the open palm of her hand that she, quite literally, stumbled back into Hawkins. Letting out a small yelp, I reassured her that it was only me.

"You okay?" I asked her and nodded towards Sierra's car at the traffic lights.

"Um," she started and gave her head a shake. Her usually bright green eyes were bloodshot, voice strained by a lump in her throat. Instantly, she cleared her throat, a small smile creeping up on her plump lips. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting to see you here"

Just as I expected, she didn't want to talk about it. I took a final glance at the car and felt my lips curling up in a snarl. The light was green, but he was still waiting there. Waiting, watching. The controlling asshole. He was intrigued by who had come to stop his daughter from crying. More importantly, who had potentially witnessed him treat his daughter like shit. Probably both. I knew from previous experience, He had that thought process. I glared at the man, sending the message clear that I had seen everything. More than an argument with his daughter. He had made her feel threatened.

"Let's go" I said and broke eye contact with the guy as he sped off.

I gave her hand a squeeze and guided her to the Camaro. To my surprise, she held on and returned the light squeeze. A silent thank you. This weird, warmth rushed through me and I found a smile emerging on my face. I opened the door for her, double checking that the car was definitely out of view.

Jumping in the driver's seat, I opened the glove compartment and motioned towards the many cassettes in there.

"Knock yourself out" I said, firing up the engine.

"Thank you, Billy" she replied earnestly. "And not just for the cassettes"

I smiled at her and picked the cassette she'd chosen gently from her fingers, getting it set up for her.

Runaway by Bon Jovi. However, the cassette had started midway through the song.

No one heard a single word you said.

Driving off, I looked over towards her. She was gazing out of the window, cupping her cheek in the palm of her hand. By the serious expression on her face, I could just tell she was wandering back in time. Exactly what she was musing over, I couldn't tell. But she was searching for comfort.

They should have seen it in your eyes.

You could see there were flickers of misery in her green eyes. It was the same emotion that cast a shadow when we were discussing the poem in class. She wanted her father to light the fire on a winter's Sunday morning, the care of a father who would do so.

What was going on in your head.

We were more alike than I thought. Within the space of a few minutes, Sierra had transformed from this girl I could toy with to someone more complicated. She wasn't just the girl who would blush when I flirted with her, but someone who craved for something other than this life. We both had fathers, but neither of us had a Dad.

"So, you gonna tell me more about that essay that got Mrs Simpson all worked up?" I joked.

And there it was, that redness creeping into her freckled cheeks. She let out a laugh and a smile arched on her lips. Shyly, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and lowered her eyelashes as she giggled.

"Why do you want a copy?" she sarcastically asked, peering up at me with a grin.

"Make sure it's signed, Nightingale" I laughed and winked at her. This only caused more giggles to spill out of her mouth. I smiled at her. That warm sensation returned. Shit, what was this? "Come on, Nightingale, I'm dying to know your inspiration"

"Oh, I bet you are, Hargrove" She shook her head, giggling away. I enjoyed seeing her laugh, hearing it flow freely from her mouth. Not to mention those freckled cheeks, growing hotter with each innuendo.

However, for a change, this wasn't for me.

It was for her.